


Past, Present, and Future

by alafaye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3435383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alafaye/pseuds/alafaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remembering Christmas, past and present and future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Past, Present, and Future

**Author's Note:**

> Written for crescent_gaia for the 2014 multi fandom gift exchange and first posted [there](http://multifan-gift.livejournal.com/37148.html).

The house appeared up the drive and John sighed. "Lots of good memories for this place."

Sherlock hummed next to him and across from them, Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean when Sherlock drugged his family and yours and then took you on a jaunt across the countryside to kill a man in cold blood? Those memories?"

Sherlock cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. John looked out the window. "Yeah, those memories."

"Sarcasm," Mycroft said quietly. "You have rubbed off on him, Sherlock."

"The other way around, actually," Sherlock said smugly. "Rather a lot recently. In fact, just this morning."

John felt his blush deeply and Mycroft groaned. "I trust you won't be making such comments at dinner?"

"Don't you dare," John hissed, anticipating Sherlock's next words. "Not now, not at dinner, never in front of your parents. Am I clear?"

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at John, clearly trying to figure out why John would exclude him from such clauses, but Sherlock smirked. John shook his head and took a deep breath. It was only because of such repeated incidents that John had even agreed to spending Christmas with Sherlock's parents.

( _"This way we won't be spending hours at a cemetary in the cold," Sherlock had explained slowly._

_John scoffed, but he knew what Sherlock meant. He'd have gone at some point during the day and he'd not leave for a long while. It had been the same when Sherlock had died and now there were two to mourn, one he'd never met, and it was just too fresh. Too soon and this a holiday, meant for families and happiness._

_"Here," Sherlock growled, shoving a cup of tea into his hands. "And then I need your opinion on this wound."_

_John was more grateful than he could fully say._ )

Sherlock put his hand on John's knee and John covered it with his own. Mycroft pointedly looked away. 

~~~

John breathed deep the next morning when he woke up, easing into wakefulness even as his mind wanted to go back to sleep. It was chilly up here despite being on the first floor. Old house, old stones, but Sherlock's room, though bearing few traces of the man himself, still rang with all the signs of the boy who had once grown up here. Stains littered the cieiling even through a coat of paint and the desk shoved against one wall was cluttered with books. A bit of the door for the wardrobe was missing, but Sherlock had only directed John elsewhere when he'd asked.

Sherlock snored in John's ear and John smiled despite himself. He turned his head and kissed Sherlock's forehead. New memories in this old room with this old friend. Since reaching adulthood, very few of his Christmases were the same. There were some spent on tour, some with his sister, one with Mary, some with Sherlock as friends. John wondered if he wanted more of them to be the same or if he liked the changing patterns.

"I didn't bring you out here to brood," Sherlock groaned.

John sighed. "When we were here last, Sherlock, for Christmas, my wife and baby were alive. I can't stop it."

"Only one of us can be moody at a time and until I say you are it, I've reserved the right to be moody," Sherlock argued.

John smirked and raised his eyebrows. "Is that so, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock nodded, mussing his curls, and John ran his hand through them. Sherlock blinked at him, lost as ever when John reached out to just touch him. Not used to such things and John wanted to spend his life helping Sherlock to not only expect them, but welcome casual touches. For all that Sherlock could look untouchable, his skin was warm and his hair soft and was very touchable. Whole days John had wasted touching Sherlock. Not often, but sometimes and Sherlock, like an alley cat given a home, was easing his way into it.

"Next time, we'll spend the day at Baker Street," Sherlock said. "And we'll visit Mary and the baby."

"Christmas dinner for two?" John asked.

Sherlock took a deep breath. "Suppose we could invite your sister sans liquor and my parents. Make a family day of it."

From downstairs, the smells of breakfast began wafting up and John imagined sitting down to the first meal of a day where Sherlock and Mycroft would snipe at each other across the table. John imagined another Christmas where they were at Baker Street and Sherlock's parents invited themselves over and forced Mycroft to come and added to it Harry's problems.

"Just us," John decided. "Long morning in bed and then tea and toast. Sandwiches later."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Tree?"

John thought about it. "I'll forgo the tree if you promise to play three songs on your violin. They don't have to be Christmas ones. They can be whatever you'd like, but they have to be well played."

Sherlock smiled lazily. "Fair trade. Mrs. Hudson will insist on putting a garland up."

"Maybe a hat on the skull?" John added with a smile.

Sherlock chuckled and John joined in. Downstairs came the sounds of a carefully controlled argument. Mycroft must have finally come inside from whatever business he had been doing (John swore the man did nothing but work). Sherlock sighed, but John kissed away whatever he had been about to say. "Happy Christmas, Sherlock."

"As if it's going to be happy with Mycroft down there sniping away," Sherlock growled.

"Be on your best behaviour and I might be inclined to reward you," John offered.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, calculating. "I get to choose?"

John knew the best answer to that, but decided to be a little less cautious. "Yes. Your choice."

Sherlock's smile was nothing but trouble, but he jumped up out of bed. "Done. Best behavoiur and later a reward. Now we just need a nice murder and this would be a perfect Christmas."

John only watched him fondly.


End file.
